


Imaginary Lover

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 21:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8073217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Mr. Reed relaxes after a long hard day in the armory. (07/16/2002)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: My first attempt at an ENT fic. This started out as a tiny Ficlet a few hours ago and then just drew. Hope you enjoy. I also hope this comes through okay. I just recently switched to Linux from Windows and haven't posted much from it yet. Ensign Conor Thorpe is a figment of my fevered imagination.  


* * *

"One more Ensign," Malcolm Reed said as he placed his hands under one end of the casing and prepared to lift. Ensign Thorpe took his position on the other side of the heavy ordnance, looked up and gave a nod.

"Right then," Malcolm said. "On three..."

Together the two men lifted the casing into its slot on the rack. Malcolm felt a small hitch in his back as the casing dropped into place.

"That's the last of them, Sir," Thorpe said. He stretched, arching his spine and working at a spot just above the small of his back with both hands. "I'm going to feel this tomorrow," he added with a grin.

Malcolm leaned against the rack massaging his own twinge with one hand. "No doubt we both will Ensign."

They stood there in companionable silence for a moment working out kinks, set in by a long day of cataloging and stowing new equipment. It was mostly mundane items, electronics, and new subspace relays that could theoretically increase targeting accuracy by a factor of ten. But more interesting and exotic was a series of smaller and more powerful phase pistols that Malcolm was especially interested in field-testing.

He pulled himself out of his musings when he heard Thorpe clear his throat. He looked up to find the tall Irish Ensign looking at him.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "Something on your mind Ensign?"

Thorpe's expression was guarded as was his voice when he answered with a question. "Well Sir," he said, running a hand through his dark hair. "Just between you and me. What do you think about the Captain?"

Malcolm crossed his arms and straightened up. "How do you mean that Conor?" he asked, slipping easily into familiarity.

"I mean, as a man, as a leader? We don't have a lot of contact with the Captain or his Bridge crew down here in the Maintenance, excepting yourself and sometimes Commander Tucker. We hear what's the official word and then, eventually, we hear the rest of it.

"Are you trying to say there's doubt about Captain Archer among the crew?" Malcolm asked. He felt his voice and manner involuntarily harden as he spoke.

"No Sir," the ensign replied quickly. "Not doubts, not like that." He paused, searching for the right words. "There's a lot of lives riding on him Sir," Thorpe said. "Lots of lives and lots of hopes too. Hell, hopes for all of humanity if you want to put a clich to it. We think he's a good man Sir, but it might take more than just a good man. If you get my meaning Sir."

Malcolm relaxed, it wasn't as bad as he feared at first, not nearly.

"Conor," Malcolm said and put a hand on the tall Ensign's shoulder. "Jonathan Archer is without a doubt the finest officer I've ever served under in any capacity. I trust him with my life, with your life and all the hopes and dreams of those billions of people so many light years behind us."

Malcolm paused. "Is that good enough for you Ensign?"

Thorpe's expression grew less guarded and he grinned back. "Yes Sir, that'll do fine."

"Good," Malcolm replied. "Now, go take a long hot shower, find some nice crewmate to massage your sore spots and we'll see you back here at 0700."

Thorpe nodded and headed to the door. He pressed the access button and turned when the door slid open. "What about you sir? You aren't going to work all night are you?"

Malcolm allowed himself a small laugh. "No, I'm going to do a bit of busywork," he held up his padd. "And then I'm going to follow my own advice."

The Ensign nodded. "Good night Sir," he said.

"Good night Conor," Malcolm replied and watched as the lanky Ensign disappeared into the ship's corridors.

Malcolm shut the door and sighed. Conor Thorpe was only five years his junior and yet he made Malcolm feel like he was in his dotage. The man had a boundless energy and enthusiasm for his work. It was tiring sometimes just watching him.

With a sigh and a stretch Malcolm picked up his padd and began updating his inventory logs. After less than a dozen entries his mind wandered back to the Ensign's question. "Is he a good man?" His own answer had been true enough. Captain Archer was a good man, an honest and trustworthy man. And if history viewed these first faltering steps into deep space with any kindness at all, he might one day be reckoned as a great man.

"But there's more to it than that isn't there?"

Malcolm brushed the thought away and transferred a dozen more entries into his inventory, before the voice surfaced again in his thoughts.

"That was a nice pat answer you gave young Thorpe wasn't it?" the voice asked.

"It was the truth," Malcolm thought to himself.

The rebellious thoughts were still for a moment and then as he crouched down to double-check a serial number the voice came back in full.

"But it wasn't the whole truth was it Mal? Not nearly, was it? You have a very special _personal_ interest in the good Captain don't you?" Malcolm closed his eyes and willed the questions away. He was tired, and sore and in no mood to bandy about with some internal foil, not tonight. He wanted a meal, a long hot shower and his bed.

"But you don't want them alone do you Mal?" The voice was suddenly loud and strident in his thoughts. Malcolm sighed and admitted the truth to himself. No, he didn't want those things alone by himself.

He transferred a few more entries into the padd, weapons, fuel cells, duralloy plating for the ships hull, and a pair of strong arms to wrap around him deep in the night. Malcolm started. He looked down at his padd and cursed beneath his breath, he'd transposed at least half a dozen fields, and made a mess of things.

"Concentrate old boy," he told himself. "No more thinking about the Captain's strong arms while there's work to be done." He rearranged the entries in their proper order and grinned slightly. "Or his muscular thighs or his broad muscled back either." He allowed himself a real grin at that. There was something damned near indefinably appealing about Captain Archer. Handsome enough to turn heads at fifty paces certainly. But there was something else; he had the air of a man completely unaware of his own magnetism. Malcolm had lost count of the number of times he'd seen a crewman, male or female it didn't matter, stop at whatever task or errand they were on and simply watch as Captain Archer walked by.

Malcolm shifted his feet and suddenly became aware of his own body's reaction to his intimate pondering of the Captain's physical attributes. He felt a real and growing urgency in his vitals. He turned his attention back to the padd. "Nothing like crunching data and inventory records take your mind off a wank." He thought.

He stumbled over the next few entries, alternating between the padd and increasingly lurid details of what a shower, a meal and then bed would entail if he weren't alone. "Blast," he said finally and set the padd down on a nearby rack. There was nothing for it, but to take care of things. He'd never get any work done with that maddening itch in his groin. He thought about retreating to his cabin for his bout of onanism but decided against it. He rather not trot down the corridors in his present condition, their uniforms were functional and comfortable enough, but concealing they were not.

Bracing himself against a rack of dismantled phase-canons he closed his eyes and gave in fully to the fantasy that was invading his thoughts. He slid his hands down his body and cupped his own equipment with one hand while sliding his uniform zipper down. It'd been a week since he'd taken care of things by himself and longer than he could easily reckon since he'd had any one else do it for him. He slid his hands into the uniform and down letting the shoulders go slack and fall away. Not that he hadn't had offers, and been tempted but somehow things had never seemed exactly right, and when dealing with lovers Malcolm preferred everything to be exactly right. Young Ensign Thorpe in particular had been nearly infatuated with Malcolm from the first day he'd been assigned to the armory. While Malcolm was flattered; and the man, with his black Irish roots, and the hint of a brogue in his voice, was certainly attractive enough. It just wouldn't be seemly.

Malcolm kicked off his boots and slid out of the uniform. Clad only in his regulation blue skivvies he retreated to a more comfortable bench at the side of the room. He'd mastered the dry-hand shuffle as a British schoolboy, as all British schoolboys did, and practiced every now and then to keep his technique up as it were. He'd be done and back to work in five minutes, and certainly less frustrated.

Slipping off the blue briefs he sat down on the bench feeling the coolness of the duraplast against his skin. Stretching out then he relaxed and took his hard cock in his hands and closed his eyes, letting this fantasies gallop as they would through his mind while he stroked his flesh.

His breath quickened as he imagined, really imagined this time, having Jonathan Archer join him in his bed. His arms really would be strong, but gentle also. His torso would be well muscled, but lean. His ass would be two perfect round globes, firm and perfect for grabbing and holding, and his cock...

"Blowing off some steam Malcolm?"

Malcolm's eyes snapped open. That had been a voice, a real voice, and not only real but belonging to one..."Captain!" Malcolm exclaimed and bolted upright grabbing for his underwear and sliding quickly into them.

"I'm sorry sir, I didn't know, I mean I didn't think, oh Christ." He added and practically jumped across the room and into his uniform.

"You should really lock the door if you're going to do that Malcolm." Archer said with more than a little humor in his voice.

"I'm so sorry sir, I wasn't thinking."

"See Malcolm," Archer said. He pressed a button on the access pad and the door locks engaged with a soft clack. "Easy as can be," he added.

"I promise you it won't happen again Sir" Malcolm said as he zipped up and grabbed his padd.

He tried to focus on the data padd and force the raging color out of his face. "Damn me for a wanker." He derided himself. His best bet, his only bet, was to pretend as if nothing had happened and go on about his work.

Archer spoke again. Malcolm looked up and suddenly realized that the Captain had gotten very close while he was fiddling with the padd. They were no more than a handbreadth apart. He could feel Archer's larger presence as much as see him.

"It's alright Malcolm," Archer said and put his own hand on the padd. "There's nothing wrong with relieving a little tension."

Malcolm looked up into Archer's face, steeling himself against his own impulsive and instant attraction. "I have a lot of work to do Captain," he said, more brusquely than he intended or had any right to.

Archer didn't pause. He pulled the padd from Malcolm's hands and stepped up, bringing their bodies in contact from chest to groin. "There's nothing wrong with helping a shipmate relieve a little tension either."

"Captain?" Malcolm asked in near stunned disbelief.

Archer placed his hand behind Malcolm's head and gently pulled him forward. "Call me Jon," he said and leaned in.

Malcolm felt the first brush of Archer's lips on his skin in a near diluvian rush of sensation. And the hands, first on his torso, then at his hips and then cupping and holding his ass and the lips that moved up and settled on his own.

He drank in the touches, the caresses, reveling in them, tossing his inhibitions, both physical and emotional aside. He found himself grinding against Archer, groin to groin enjoying the feeling of their hardness against each other.

Finally Archer broke the kiss, then quickly dipped in for another briefer more playful kiss. He leaned back and ran his hands up Malcolm's body letting his hands linger and fondle before landing on the uniform zipper. With a quick pull the zipper came down. Malcolm gasped as Archers hands slid inside the uniform and over his shoulders, quickly and easily ridding Malcolm of the top half of his jumpsuit. Then his hands were up and under Malcolm's T-shirt, questing out and gently tweaking his already hard nipples.

Malcolm started to speak but Archer leaned in again and took another long lingering kiss. He broke the kiss again and continued his industrious kneading and pinching. Malcolm writhed under Archer's persistent touch.

"Shh, you relax," Archer said. "Can't have my Tactical Officer distracted and frustrated while on the bridge can I?" He asked. Without waiting for an answer he withdrew his hands, winked and dropped to his knees.

Malcolm looked down wide-eyed. "Captain are you sure...?" He began to ask. As if in answer Archer grabbed handfuls of cloth and pulled. In one swift motion he divested Malcolm of the legs of his uniform and his briefs all at once. "I guess you are," Malcolm said and moaned as he felt Archer's mouth envelop the head of his cock.

Malcolm relaxed into the act, allowing Archer to guide him and simply feel the experience. Archer pulled back and wrapped his hand around Malcolm's cock. He squeezed and pumped once, and then twice quickly. Malcolm bucked almost involuntarily with each stroke. "Good reflexes Mr. Reed, " Archer said with a sly grin. "Thank you Sir," Malcolm answered with as much formality as he could muster given the situation.

Archer laughed, leaned back in and set to his task with enthusiasm. In a few moments Malcolm began to feel tension rising up from his toes, through the heavy muscles in the back of his legs and into his groin. He began to thrust in time with Archer's movements who allowed the head of Malcolm's cock to slide more deeply into his mouth. Malcolm felt the head of his cock hit the back of Archer's mouth and nudge at the top of his throat. He worried for a moment about possibly gagging his own Captain but Archer seemed to accommodate his thrusts with ease.

Finally, sensing Malcolm's rising orgasm, Archer slid his mouth down to the base of Malcolm's cock taking in his full hard length. At the same time his hands slid between Malcom's legs and past his perineum. With one swift lunge he planted one long finger inside Malcom's anus. Malcolm bucked and swore aloud and then bucked harder as Archer's large fingers, one then another, entered him and ferreted out his prostate. There was a delightful roaring in his ears as his consciousness was flattened by an onrushing orgasm. He felt his balls tighten wonderfully and then it was on him. He had a moment of near mindlessness as he felt his body spasm and spurt. Unable to stand, he let himself slide to the floor. To Archer's credit he followed Malcolm all the way.

Malcolm closed his eyes and relished the moment. It was impossible of course, completely bloody wonderfully impossible. But still he'd relish the moment.

"Bridge to Armory," he heard Archer say.

"Wha?"

"Bridge to Armory, are you all right Mr. Reed?"

Malcolm opened his eyes, stood and stumbled across the armory, with his briefs at his ankles and pressed the comm-button.

"Sorry Captain, was involved with something."

"That's alright Mr. Reed. I was just wanted to tell you not to work too late. I met Ensign Thorpe in the lift. He said he thought you'd probably stay up all night. It's time to call it an evening Mr. Reed."

Malcolm sighed. "Yes sir, Reed out."

He quickly cleaned himself up, dressed, turned up the room's air circulation to clear the lingering odor and picked up his padd. He started to look the numbers over again, then slipped the padd into a leg pocket. He needed a shower and a meal, and then maybe he'd see what Commander Tucker was doing for the evening or perhaps he'd look in on Ensign Thorpe. He'd wanted a game of chess for some time now.


End file.
